


Strength and Heart

by sweetrupturedlight



Series: By God's Grace [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the wonderful fgfdw on tumblr who wanted to see the evolution of the relationship between a young King and the Musketeer who was his father. Follows Someday Is Better Than Never and A Perception and concludes their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength and Heart

At thirteen, Louis, now King of France was a boy on the brink of manhood. Looking at his physical form, one would have assumed he was advanced by some years. Louis had been blessed with a strong body and mind. Encouraged by his mother, he loved hunting and all manner of activities that involved physical exertion. His cabinet staunchly disapproved but as long as he was careful, the Queen never curtailed him.

"You are like your father," his mother would always say, her eyes warm and loving, as if she recalled a fond memory. "Like he will always be, you are my strength and heart." Back then, the compliment had made him proud. That is, until he began to realise that the previous Regent had not been as omnipotent as he had been made to believe.

When his father had been alive, he had sort the council of Cardinal Richelieu. He never met the Cardinal who died around the time was born, but he knew his father had relied heavily on his judgement. Although Louis was still young, he was astute enough to read between the lines. After all, he had had to grow up, mature and learn the politics of life a lot sooner than most were required to know their left from their right. He came to understand early on that his father had been feared because he was King, and respected only because as Regent, he happened to hold the highest office in the land. There had been very little love for him. In the recesses and privacy of his mind, he called his father weak, a sentiment that shamed him, even if he would not take it back. These words, spoken out loud would be frowned upon – even by his mother – who despite suffering under his frivolous character, did nothing to discredit his memory.

Four months after his thirteenth birthday, Louis met a new Cardinal at the behest of the Queen. He realised that he was young and needed allies whose judgement and experience he could rely upon to assist in making the right decisions for his country. Thus far, his mother had been an invaluable support but he knew that the government had no love for her Spanish connections and he needed to court the assistance and influence of a neutral third party.

"Louis," Anne said, approaching her son one afternoon as he strolled in the palace gardens. Around him courtiers enjoyed musicians playing an array of string instruments, accompanied by one of the most consummate French singers. "This is Cardinal Mazarin."

It was unusual to be approached thus, without the usual formality. He understood then that the meeting was important to his mother and that she wanted him to meet the Cardinal without the pretence and ceremony usually associated with these sorts of things.

"Your Majesty." Cardinal Mazarin was not like any man of God Louis had seen up until then. Perhaps that was why he took an instant liking to him. Instead of the usual supplication and at times judgement that radiated off the clergy at court, the Cardinal was confident and self-assured. His ease with himself was evident in the effortless way he carried himself, the way he respectfully, but determinedly spoke his mind. But mainly, it was the kindness so apparent in his eyes. Kindness and humour. It was the two qualities Louis had learnt to hide – a King should be firm, his tutors had said – but later learned to appreciate because of Mazarin.

After a stroll around the grounds on their very first meeting, Cardinal Mazarin impressed upon him that a King should be compassionate. A King should know his people. And a King should never forget to laugh – even at himself on occasion.

The philosophy called to the soul of a boy becoming a man and so Louis did the only thing he could – he adopted it. Apart from his mother, he had never met anyone he was able to converse with so easily. Years later, armed with knowledge and understanding, he would remember how his mother's eyes shone with such pride when he'd first made the Cardinal's acquaintance, how emotionally charged the moment had been. It felt after a few weeks like he had always known the Cardinal and that in some small way, he had always been a part of his life.

Perhaps part of his charm was the fact that he did not look like a man of the cloth ought to and so Louis did not feel the need to pretend to be more or less than what he was. He had a great physical presence – broad shoulders and a lithe form – quite unusual for the sedentary lifestyle of priests. Cardinal Mazarin also had a thick, uncontrollable cap of hair. Even beneath the zucchetto on his head, the strands curled, appearing as if he were permanently windswept. And yet it did not make him appear silly or ridiculous. It simply suited him in a way it only could with someone so incredibly at ease with himself.

A year after Mazarin had joined his ministry, Louis still struggled with the legacy of his father. In the quiet of his chambers, he spoke to a person he had come to trust with his troubles.

"My father is dead Cardinal, has been for many years and yet I feel the weight of his legacy upon my shoulders." Louis slumped into his chair, dismissing protocol for the time being.

"It is the privilege that comes with being King of a nation." Mazarin stood beside the window, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. There was a stillness, a peace around him that Louis envied. He had mastered the art of patience, a virtue a young King never thought he would be able to learn.

"My father was a simple man who made decisions that did not always have the desired outcome." Louis sighed, rolling his eyes, relieved his mother was not there to see him do it. "God rest his soul." He added the last part as an afterthought.

"You fear making the same mistakes?"  _Always so insightful_ , Louis thought.

"Do we not have the same blood flowing in our veins?"

The Cardinal looked thoughtful as he looked off into the distance. "The only council I can offer your Majesty, is that you are half Spanish, half French. The combination makes you who you are and offers wisdom, courage and judgement in equal measures. You are your own man Sire."

Louis smiled. "The French would claim I am  _all_  French, very happy to ignore the Spanish part of me."

"With respect, the King is dead your Majesty. But your father will always be with you. Here," he pointed to his head. "And here," to his heart. The sincerity and intensity of the sentiment touched and saddened Louis at the same time.

"I remember so little of him. I am not sure if what I remember are stories others have told me or if they are actually my memories."

"Perhaps, your Majesty should see it as an opportunity to be unencumbered by the past. Do not be afraid to forge a path of your own, free of the expectation of others."

Louis ruminated on the advice for a moment before moving from his seat to stand beside the Cardinal. "I do believe Cardinal, that this might be the most honest conversation I have ever had with anyone other than my mother."

Mazarin bowed in deference. "An honour."

"Thank you," Louis said, meaning it sincerely. There was something about this man, something about the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity of his council, the humility of his person and the sharpness of his mind that was an unparelled combination.  _And his adventurous spirit_ , Louis thought with a small smile. Yes. The Cardinal was an adventurer at heart.

At sixteen, Louis watched the Cardinal duel. Well, perhaps duelling was an exaggeration. But it turned out that he enjoyed sparring with the Royal Guard.

"It keeps the body fit," he told Louis afterwards. "And the mind sharp. To be in control of your movements, to understand the limitations of your body and to utilise  _all_  your skills, it is God's gift to us. We are not all blessed with keen wit or intelligence. But we are all made equal in our bodies. If we listen to it, train it and exercise it, it will always serve us well."

That summer Louis realised he had a talent with swords. With the Cardinal's encouragement, he practiced more often and found the sport came to him with relative ease. While it was hard to find an opponent who would genuinely challenge him, he did manage to get Mazarin to spar with him on occasion. Louis would realise years later that those moments - when it was just the two of them, pitting their skill against each other, grunting, sweating and sometimes even cursing - were indeed among the best of his life. It was moments he imagined he would have shared with his father, especially when the Cardinal gazed at him and he saw affection, felt love in the way he always praised and encouraged, or kindly coached when Louis strayed. Deep down, he wished he had known his father and that perhaps he might have been someone more like the Cardinal.

It also became apparent that his mother had taken a lover. The Queen was lighter of spirit and he knew the Cardinal now visited her chambers. If he ought to have been outraged, he was not. To see his mother so happy, and with a man he respected so very much, he gladly turned the other cheek. Once he had even happened upon them in a quiet moment. They never knew he was there, but the gentle way in which Mazarin held Anne had touched a place inside of him. They loved each other, he realised, the weight of their mutual affection evident.

Three years later Louis contemplated a marriage proposal. It was one of the most stressful times of his life. While he knew he would make an attractive husband to any woman, he was surprised at how anxious the entire process of choosing and securing one made him.

"She will accept, your Majesty," the Cardinal advised with a knowing smile as they rode their horses side-by-side. They both enjoyed riding at dawn and so it made sense to ride together when the opportunity presented itself.

"I sense you think me foolish Cardinal."

"Not at all. But what does your instincts tell you Majesty? Did the Lady Maria Theresa seem receptive to your advances during her visit?"

Louis shrugged. "She is beautiful. And it will be a good match."

"A match? It is a  _marriage_  Sire."

"Is that not what I am supposed to make? An appropriate if not advantages marriage?"

The Cardinal shook his head, touching his heart as he spoke. "Beauty is but on the surface and fades with time. It is what is on the inside that counts. Does she have courage and endurance? Moving to France will be a new life, a hard one for a woman who has been cossetted by a royal family. Does she seem amiable, of a good temperament, able to adapt? Is she kind? She will be the mother of your children. Will she be able to raise them in the way of God?"

"I am not sure I can ascertain all of this from a handful of meetings."

The Cardinal smiled and Louis realised that he must have known his fair share of women in the past. No man could so comfortably relate to their virtues if he did not.

"Then start with one question only your Majesty. Do you love her? If you love her, if you respect her, then the rest will come."

Guided by those principles, a month later Louis received word that his marriage proposal to Maria Theresa of Spain had been accepted. Three years later, he stood in front of the mirror on his wedding day.

"Are you ready, your Majesty?"

"To be a husband? Someday a father? I hope so." Still, years later, the legacy of his father haunted him. How little he could see of him in his own person. They looked nothing alike. For years he would visit the galleries to try and ascertain whether something had changed, something to bring him closer to the man who had ruled a country and sired him. But the exercise proved fruitless.

Louis looked to the man he had now known for close to ten years. "We have known each other almost a decade Cardinal. It feels as though it has been closer to a lifetime."

There was something in his eyes, something sad, but the expression was gone so quickly the King was sure he had mistaken it as a trick of the light. "It has been my greatest honour your Majesty."

"No," said Louis, earnest as he clasped the Cardinal's arm. "You have proven your loyalty to me and my mother too many times to quantify. And yet, more than that, you have been sacred council, a friend… indeed," Louis smiled, feeling vulnerable, an emotion he had not experienced for many years, "You have been as a father to me Cardinal, when I have never known my own."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Louis saw Mazarin's mask slip. For a moment, gone was the pleasant and controlled and in its place was the face of a man who had lived and perhaps suffered for a long time. Dark eyes shone with the sheen of tears and Louis felt humbled to have brought a man of God to such an emotional place.

"As God bears witness, if I were blessed with a son, he would be like you, Sire."

"What about Philippe? He loves you as much as I do," Louis teased about his flamboyant brother.

Mazarin grinned, his eyes alight with the truest affection. "I would take you both with pride."

It was all he said. It was all he needed to say. The bond between them solidified that day and was now the tangible relationship between an adoptive father and son. Such was the love Louis bore for him.

It would be a handful of years later that Louis felt the ground shake beneath his feet, the core of his beliefs shattered. "Renè d'Herblay," Treville said. "The Cardinal had been born Renè d'Herblay and he had served as the King's Musketeer, Aramis."

The memory of a conversation he had overheard so many years ago filtered into his waking thoughts.  _The son of a Musketeer_. There was no evidence, nothing to substantiate the feeling that he belonged to another. And yet, it seemed – or was it that he  _hoped_  – that it proved true. His mother he realised, would have known Aramis, would have known him long before he entered the Church.

 _Could it prove coincidence that the only lover she took after his father's death was a Musketeer, a man who might very well be his true father_?  _Did they not share more in common than he ever would with the previous King? Did they not enjoy the telling of stories of adventure, the sprint of their horses across the land and did they not share equal talent with a sword?_

Louis now noticed how much his brother Philippe actually resembled the Cardinal with his dark eyes and unruly hair. Philippe, always fashionable, covered his hair with wigs in various colours, the resemblance therefore only obvious to someone armed with the suspicion.

One afternoon Louis watched the Cardinal accurately shoot a deer from a remarkable distance. "You shoot Cardinal? I was not aware that men in God's service enjoy such…. base pursuits?"

"While I strive for perfection in God's eyes, your Majesty, I am but a man. And don't all men yearn to sometimes simply shoot at something?" His eyes twinkled with good humour and Louis smiled back.

"Especially if you're aiming at a courtier, Cardinal?"

Mazarin's laughter was loud, spontaneous, infectious and Louis could not help sharing in his merriment.

"Touché, your Majesty."

Louis always visited the portrait he had commissioned of the Cardinal after his wedding years prior and stared at it in fascination. Everything he had searched for in the portrait of his own father he now saw here so clearly - the build, the chin and dear God, the hair. The source of great amusement, Cardinal Mazarin's ungodly hair was the one thing he might have inherited from him.

When his first son was born, Louis watched the Cardinal bless the child, watched the way his mother hovered close by and the way they seemed to dote – like grandparents. They truly were inseparable now – the dowager Queen and her husband. Married with his blessing, but in secret, they were as one – one mind, one heart, one purpose – to love each other and love him. Louis felt that, the love, the caring and the concern. It bled into every part of his life, including that of his own children. He was a better King, a better husband and a better father because of the example set by this man.

For thirty years Louis had the Cardinal in his life before the time came for him to return to God. His mother had died the year prior and Louis knew that the Cardinal had never quite recovered from the loss of his wife.

" _God loves you. Always be true to who you are_." Philippe pressed his lips together, his head bowed in mourning as they stood beside the sickbed. "He always said that to me, always accepted me without reservation. I loved him for it." Louis could not respond; his own emotions too close to the surface as their father took his final breath.

Later, alone with his body after his passing, Louis was the one who closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"God go with you my Father," he whispered, his throat constricting with tears. It would be the first and only time he would ever use the term out loud. "You have been my strength and heart. Rest in peace."

Alone with his father for the last time, he was not a King, only a man. And the proud son of a Musketeer.


End file.
